


helping hand

by canticle



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Comparing dicks, Hand Jobs, M/M, Uncircumcised Penis, accidental handjob, one minute your bro is letting you check out his dick, sometimes it just sorta happens, the next....whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13686894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canticle/pseuds/canticle
Summary: Ryuji’s attention is on him in an instant.“Wait, really? You're not?”“Nope.” he pops the p; Ryuji sees a glint of teeth.“Can I see?”





	helping hand

**Author's Note:**

> hey so, this was written in a 3 hr spurt and, as such, is completely unedited! i did a quick scan through for spelling errors but it's entirely possible that i've missed some. feel free to point them out!

Akira hasn't stopped playing with the chocolate square Ryuji gave him.

Ryuji can see him fiddle with it, even with the lights off; the ambient glow coming in from the window is enough to make out his silhouette, enough to glint off the foil wrapper spinning across his knuckles. It's a little hypnotic.

Maybe he's hypnotized. Maybe that's why he blurts it out.

“You got a girl waiting for you back home?”

The chocolate slips. Akira catches it in deft fingers as he tilts his head to look at Ryuji. The light from the window glints across the frames of his glasses as well. He doesn't have to tilt too far; they're both splayed across his mattress, their legs dangling off the side. “Nah,” he says a moment later. 

“Why not? You'd be a hell of a catch for some girl.” In for a yen, in for a thousand; Ryuji just can't stop running his mouth tonight. Maybe it's the dark, maybe it's how close they're laying; maybe it's the fierce sense of glee he's got running through his veins, finally having his best friend back at his side where he belongs.

Akira laughs a bit and spins the chocolate again. “Yeah? You think the ladies like bad boys?”

“You're the baddest boy.”

He laughs again, louder this time. “Before I left,” he says, “I maybe had a thing. We'd gone out a few times, made out at a party, you know how it is.” Ryuji doesn't know how it is, but he nods. “But after the Shido thing…”

“Yeah,” Ryuji finishes for him, hearing his sigh. “She doesn't sound like she was all that great anyway, if she'd dump you over something like that. You deserve...iunno, somethin' like a ‘ride or die' type girl. Someone who'll be there for you thick and thin.”

“Rich or poor,” Akira adds, “in sickness or health.”

“Or jail.”

“Or jail!”

“If she ain't waitin’ for you the second you get out, she's not worth it.”

Akira snickers, and so does Ryuji, and the air between them is charged with warmth.

“You got your eye on anyone?” Akira asks. Ryuji's mouth skews up in thought, but to be honest no one comes to mind; just a nebulous shape with a wicked grin and messy hair. “I would have thought you of all guys--”

“Hey, hey," Ryuji protests, rolling to smack Akira in the shoulder. “The hell's that supposed to mean?”

“You're the one who walked in here all mopey that he didn't have a date!” Akira sputters, but he's laughing. “All ‘hey Akira let's get this sad bachelor's party underway oh wait where's Mishima he doesn't get to go out chasing tail if we aren't-”

The only reason he doesn't go on is because Ryuji slaps a pillow over his mouth and holds it there. They tussle, struggling back and forth; Akira gets hold of the pillow and smacks him in the face twice before Ryuji pins him down. After that he gives up, breath heaving in and out in stifled laughter that makes Ryuji feel warm and pleased.

He doesn't move, even after they've both caught their breath, not until Akira draws in deeply and Ryuji remembers his position. He rolls off,  back to his original spot, their shoulders brushing.

“So this girl,” he says, “how far did you guys get?”

Akira hums. When Ryuji looks at him out of the corner of his eye, he looks lost in thought. “Not far.”

“What, like second base?”

“That's above the waist, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Third, then.”

“Score!” Ryuji hisses in delight. “How was it, man?”

“It wasn't great,” he admits with a shudder. “Teeth.”

Ryuji winces in sympathy. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. She was real apologetic, and she still--” he makes a vaguely evocative hand gesture that draws Ryuji's gaze, “but that wasn't great either. She didn't wanna hurt me again, so everything she did was...soft.”

He adds nonchalantly “I think the fact that I'm not circumcised threw her off,” and Ryuji’s attention is on him in an instant.

“Wait, really? You're not?”

“Nope.” he pops the p; Ryuji sees a glint of teeth.

“Can I see?”

He regrets it the second it comes out of his mouth. Akira rolls over to look at him fully, brow furrowed, and Ryuji grabs the pillow and tries to smother himself. “Hey, none of that,” Akira says as he grabs it. “You serious?”

“Forget I said anythin’,” he groans, refusing to look. 

“Cause I'll show you, if you want.”

Now Ryuji's the one to look at him sharply. He's got his non-expression on, the leader mask; in the dark Ryuji can't tell if he's blushing or joking. “Ain't that a little…” be says.

“It's only gay if the balls touch,” Akira says solemnly. Ryuji's chuckle is a little hysterical. “You wanna?”

“Yeah, sure!” Ryuji says a little too loud. He's lost control of this evening. “Whatever man, show me your dick, it's all cool--”

“You're the one who asked.” Akira rolls onto his back, lifts his hips, and shimmies out of his sweatpants before Ryuji can say anything else.

It's a motion that dries Ryuji's mouth as much as it makes him want to swallow.

His boxers are a little too loose on his waist, and the jut of his hip bones speaks for itself; he’s lost weight in prison, and the fact of that is almost enough to distract him from--

“Dude, what the fuck,” he blurts, “tell me you’re not a grower.”

Akira’s whoop of laughter is unexpected to both of them; within seconds, Akira’s curled up almost into a fetal position, laughing so hard his glasses slip off one ear, hard enough that Ryuji’s glad the walls are thick and no one is left downstairs. Ryuji can’t even feel embarrassed anymore; he’s reached his capacity about two stupid comments ago, and all his attention is stolen by the flash of skin he can see between Akira’s fingers.

Akira eventually rolls over again, pulling his glasses off and wiping his eyes. “Only a little bit,” he says a little breathily. He uncups his hand again.

Now that Ryuji’s not flat-out shocked anymore, he can focus on the smaller details. It’s not all that different, except for how it is; who would’ve thought that a flap of skin could make something look so foreign? “I can see why she’d be weirded out,” he mutters under his breath, drawing another huff of laughter from Akira. “I mean, c’mon, man, I’m a little weirded out. You’ve got a...shaft snuggie.”

“I prefer ‘cock cowl’ myself,” Akira says, just deadpan enough that Ryuji laughs too.

It’s really just as veiny as his, except the veins go all the way up. He wonders if it’s super-sensitive, or if it’s just like touching the back of your hand.

He darts a glance up-- Akira’s hands are folded behind his head, his eyes on the glowing plastic stars dotting the rafters. He’s not paying attention; it’s not like Ryuji can say “hey, can you tilt your cock this way for me so I can look at it better?”

It’s fine. Akira said he could look.

He reaches out and just sorta nudges it so the head flops towards him instead of away. Akira jolts like he’s been stabbed. “Warn a guy!”

“Sorry.” Ryuji’s not really sorry. “Did I hurt you?”

“Course not. It’s not  _ that _ sensitive.” It feels the same as his does, mostly; it’s not like he touched it long enough to really tell.

“How sensitive is it, then?” Ryuji asks, fingers curling loosely into a fist. Akira’s still not looking, still staring up; he said he hadn’t hurt him. And it’s not like you can blame a guy for being curious, right?

“I dunno,” Akira shrugs, “it’s not like I’ve got anything to compare it with.”

This time when Ryuji touches him, he leaves his finger resting on the swell of skin right below the crown. Akira jumps again but Ryuji doesn’t move. “But, like, you feel that, right?”

“Of course I feel it. It’s not  _ not _ sensitive.”

“But it’s less sensitive than if I-- if you were touchin’ it directly?”

“Yeah.”

Ryuji lets his finger trail down the shaft a bit, then back up towards where the skin starts to pucker. “Feels like normal.”

“It’s just  _ skin _ .”

“Yeah, but it’s dick skin.” He does it again; it’s maybe just a bit softer towards the top, like velvet. It’s not like when his own is soft.

“Dick skin’s the same as regular skin.” Akira’s voice sounds a little thin. WHen Ryuji looks up, though, he’s still in the same position, though his eyes have closed. “Uh. Ryuji.”

“Yeah?”

“When I said it wasn’t that sensitive, I didn’t mean it’s like-- a stick, or a rock, or something.”

“Yeah, I know.” The sides are so smooth, though. When he puts his thumb over the big vein there he feels it jump under his touch.

“ _ Ryuji. _ ”

“What?”

“Seriously?”

“ _ What? _ ” He’s a little defensive; Akira  _ did _ say he could look. 

Instead of answering, Akira throws an arm over his eyes and makes a gesture with his other hand. Ryuji abruptly realizes he’s half-hard. “Oh. Oh, shit, man, sorry--”

“I haven’t gotten off since I went to jail,” he says, muffled into his sleeve. 

“Holy shit, that’s  _ awful. _ ”

“Yeah,” he laughs a little, just a breath. Ryuji looks back down; he’s fully hard now, and it’s  _ so weird _ to see what looks like a regular dick covered in a skin sleeve. “Sorry. I can go--”

“Can I just--” Ryuji says, his words tangling with Akira’s. “I mean, it’s not a big deal, I’m not freaked out, everyone gets boners, man--”

“I know, but I don’t want to make you uncomfo--”

“It’s fine,” Ryuji says, a little stilted.

“Really--”

“It’s  _ fine.” _ He reaches back out and lays a finger on the head, pinning it between his touch and the waistband of Akira’s boxers, watching Akira’s breath catch, watching him swallow. 

“If you say so,” he says eventually.

“Do you want me to stop?”

He waves a hand. “Just-- do whatever you want. It’s okay.”

“Kay,” Ryuji repeats, and touches him with two fingers this time. He can feel Akira’s pulse; his dick jumps a little when he pats it. When he drags his finger down the head Akira hisses, and he feels the skin move. “That bad?”

“...no.”

He does it again, just to hear Akira’s breath hitch. “Guess it makes sense,” he says under his breath, “you gotta be able to pull it back to piss, yeah?”

“...yeah.”

There’s a thought. He takes it between thumb and forefinger and tries to push the skin down, ignoring Akira’s grunt. It stretches wide when it exposes what’s underneath. “It always this wet?” Ryuji asks in curiosity.

“...no.”

“Huh.” He rolls the skin back up over it, then pulls it down again. It goes easily, smooth as if he’d lubed his hand up. “So like, when you’re jerkin’ it, you just sorta shimmy the snuggie, right?” He pulls it all the way down this time,and once it’s down there it looks like a regular dick, if one with a little more skin wrinkled up around the head.

“...mnh.”

“Or do you do the whole thing anyway?” What would that even feel like? The foreskin only goes so far down-- Ryuji wraps his hand around and pumps it experimentally. “Weird.” Even just that one pass leaves his palm slick. “You get wet like a girl.”

“What the fuck,” Akira half-laughs, half-breathes, “does that even mean?”

“Iunno. I don’t get this wet. ‘S weird.” What’s weird is how silky-smooth it feels to glide the foreskin up along the head and then back down; what’s weird is how it feels to have Akira’s dick throb in his palm. He almost feels like he’s watching himself from a distance, because when he came over tonight he sure as  _ fuck _ did not expect to end up jerking his best friend off.

...that’s what he’s doing right now, isn’t he? Somewhere, this crossed the line from “a little exploration between bros” to “actual sexual acts,” and Ryuji doesn’t know when or how. It feels stupid to freeze up over it when he’s  _ literally been stroking his best friend’s shaft _ .

It feels...weird. But it doesn’t feel bad. He feels conflicted about it, sure, but only in a ‘caught off-guard’ sorta way, not like a ‘this is the worst moment ever’ way. “Hey, Akira,” he says, pulling the skin back to touch the pad of his thumb to the bare head. He rubs a little circle. Akira makes a choked noise and presses his arm a little harder over his face. “This better or worse than that girl managed to do?”

His answer is slow in coming, and when he does speak, his voice is thin and strained. “Better.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“No teeth.”

“Yeah,” Ryuji laughs. “No teeth. I promise, bro. She touch you like this?” He rubs a little circle again; it’s already slicker under the pad of his finger than it was moments ago.

Akira shakes his head.

“She just sorta grab and yank?”

Akira nods his head.

“Mmm.” He wraps his hand around him again. It’s not the best angle; he swings himself up and over to sit on Akira’s thighs. “So you like it more like this, yeah?”

Ryuji’s not  _ gentle, _ but he’s not as rough as he usually is with himself either. It’s so  _ weird, _ working his hand backwards with none of the feedback he usually gets from it. He can’t immediately tell what it feels like, can’t adjust his movements to his own pleasure. “Akira?” he says more than asks, a little unsure. 

“Yeah,” Akira mumbles. His arm shifts; looks like he’s shoving his glasses up, just to press down harder on his face. In the dim light, Ryuji can tell that he’s red all the way down to his neck. “Y’can-- um-- tighter-- if y’want.”

Akira’s breaths come thick and strained. As Ryuji closes his hand a little tighter, strokes a little harder, a whine joins each exhale. He squirms, but he can’t move because Ryuji’s got him pinned. Ryuji likes that.

So does Akira, apparently, because the next time Ryuji settles more firmly on top of him he groans. “You like that?” he says again, voice low. “I got you.” 

He watches intently as Akira’s mouth drops open, as he bites his lip and his hips jerk, pressing himself into Ryuji’s hand. “I got you,” he says again, softer this time. “Akira. You’re all good, bro. I got you.”

“Ryuji,” he gasps, straining for air. 

“Yeah.”

“I--”

“Yeah?”

“I-if you don’t want--” his free hand, once bunched up in the bedsheets, moves down to rest fingertips on his wrist, very lightly.  He whines again, a soft noise that goes straight to Ryuji’s studiously-ignored dick. “I’m gonna, ah--”

“Ah.” Right. Ryuji’s stubborn enough to want to see this through to the sticky, bitter end. “Hey. What’d I say? I got you. Just sit back and relax.”

Akira huffs a laugh that turns into a moan halfway through. “Lie back and think of England?”

“Nah. Just me.”

_ “God--” _ Akira chokes on his next breath; his back arches, the hand on his wrist fisting into the sleeve of his hoodie. “Fuck, Ryuji,  _ shit--” _

“Do you always have such a potty mouth when you come?” Ryuji laughs, but Akira’s far too involved in the moment to answer him, tense and arched like a drawn bow. His mouth falls open, his head flops over to the side, his arm sliding down enough that Ryuji can see his brows furrowed together like he’s concentrating on the world’s hardest math problem. “God you’re pretty,” he says without thinking, without even hearing himself talk. “You know? It’s not fair--”

The noise Akira makes when he comes is also unfair. Ryuji’s left a little breathless in the aftermath, Akira limp and boneless and gasping for breath beneath him. “Wow,” he says a little dumbly. “That--”

“Wow,” Akira agrees, and then he laughs-- just a little, very softly. “Holy shit. Wow.”

“Good?”

“Fantastic.”

“Best first post-jail orgasm ever?”

“Yeah.” 

And then they’re both laughing, at themselves, at each other, at their stilted dialogue, at the ridiculousness of the situation. Akira points him to a tissue box on the windowsill; Ryuji wipes his hand clean and tosses it in the approximate direction of the trashcan. “Happy Valentine’s day,” Ryuji says when they fall quiet again. “It’s really good to have you back, man.”

“You think everyone’ll wanna welcome me back like this?” Akira asks, meeting his eyes for the first time since they started messing around.

“Sure as hell hope not.”

Akira grins and waggles his eyebrows. “Hey, so,” he says, flicking his gaze down briefly. “Would you, uh--”

“Oh, right, sorry.” He shifts as if to get up, but Akira’s hands slap down on top of his thighs, stopping him from moving. “Huh?”

“Want one too?” he says with a shrug, one thumb tracing the inside seam of Ryuji’s jeans near his knee. “No pressure, obviously, but…”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“...yeah. Okay. Sure, then.” It’s not like this night can get much weirder anyway, he might as well top it off with Akira’s hand on his dick.

Akira tugs him forward until he’s kneeling more over his stomach than his thighs. “It’ll be easier to reach this way,” he says, his hands smoothing up and down Ryuji’s thighs, soothingly. “Let me know if you want me to stop or anything, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna take it out, or do you want me to?”

“...I got it.”

It’s a little nerve-wracking exposing himself like this, even though he’s  _ just finished _ having his hands all over Akira’s dick. He’s been hard for a while; just unzipping his jeans and pulling himself out sends a shiver up his spine. Akira makes an interested noise, his fingers meeting Ryuji’s where he’s still holding himself. “I see why you said it was weird,” he murmurs.

“I didn’t say it was weird! I said yours was weird!”

“I’m not calling your dick weird, Ryuji, hush.” His fingers slick across the head. Ryuji can’t quite stifle a noise in time. “Sensitive?”

“Uh, maybe.” Maybe it’s just because Akira looks so intent, or because he’s been turned on and worked up for a while; maybe it’s because Akira’s fingers are way, way too proficient. Either way, he  _ is _ sensitive, watching Akira with hooded eyes. “ _ Shit, _ ” he hisses at a particularly nice twist of Akira’s wrist. “You done this before?”

Akira huffs but doesn’t answer him, and Ryuji forgets the question when he comes.

They clean up in Leblanc’s bathroom with a handful of wet paper towels; neither of them really want to go to the bathhouse at this hour of the night, and Ryuji doesn’t have any clean clothes anyway. They were pretty tidy, at least. No stray drops of anything on anything but tissues and skin.

“You don’t have to leave,” Akira says abruptly. “You can stay the night. Sojiro won’t care. Morgana’s not coming back either.”

Ryuji hesitates. It’d be weird-- but no, it really wouldn’t. He’s stayed the night before, camped out on Akira’s couch. Sure, he hasn’t done it after jerking Akira off, but that’s okay. He hasn’t done a lot of things after jerking Akira off.

“Yeah, okay.”

“You’ll stay?”

“Yeah, man. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> "fondling your best bro's dick isn't gay unless you make it gay"- sakamoto ryuji 2k18  
> i don't have any idea where this fic came from and i don't have any idea where it went but here it is ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> my tumblr is cant-icle ! i love to hear from you!  
> thanks so much for reading! <3
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ~~canticle do you have a thing about handjobs?~~


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